
Book„-iS- 6 Tg 



'']l? 



Works by J. C. Squire 



The Gold Tree 
Twelve Poems 
The Three Hills 

And Other Poems 

The Survival of the Fittest 

And Other Poems 

Imaginary Speeches 
Steps to Parnassus 



TRICKS OF THE 
TRADE 



> BY 

J. C. SQUIRE 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDON 

Gbe fmicttecbochei; press 

1917 



^*<e^ 



Reprinted, under arrangement, from the 
Third English Edition. 



J, i"^^y/7 



irbe "ftnfcftctbocftcr ©rcss, IRew JJorft 



ROBERT LYND 

THESE FINAL ESSAYS IN A NOT WHOLLY 
ADMIRABLE ART 





CONTENTS 




I. 


HOW THEY DO IT 
Mr.H.BeUocI 


PAGE 

I 




Mr. H. Belloc, II . 


2 


2. 


Mr. W. H. Davies, I 


8 




Mr. W. H. Davies, II 


9 


3- 


SirH. Newbolt 


10 


4- 


Mr. John Masefield . 


12 


5- 


Mr. G. K. Chesterton 


26 


6. 


Canon H. D. Rawnsley 


27 


7- 


Numerous Celts 


28 


8. 


The Writers of Folk-Songs 


30 


9- 


Mr. H.G.Wells . 


32 


10. 


Mr. G. Bernard Shaw 


39 



HOW THEY WOULD HAVE DONE IT 



1. If Wordsworth had written "The 

Everlasting Mercy " . . -49 

2. If Swinburne had written " The 

Lay of Horatius " . . .51 



vi CONTENTS 



3. 
4- 

5. 
6. 

7. 
8. 

9- 
10. 



PAGE 

f Mr. Masefield had written " Casa- 
blanca " . . . .54 

f almost any Elizabethan had written 
" She dwelt among the Untrodden 
Ways" 58 

f Pope had written " Break, Break, 
Break" 60 

f Gray had written " Spoon River 
Anthology " . . .62 

f a very New Poet had written " The 
Lotus-Eaters " . . . .66 

f Henry James had written the 
Church Catechism . . .69 

f Lord Byron had written " The 
Passing of Arthur " , -72 

f Sir Rabindranath Tagore had 
written " Little Drops of Water ** . 80 



HOW THEY DO IT 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 



No. I. MR. H. BELLOC 
I 

At Martinmas, when I was born, 

Hey diddle, Ho diddle, Do, 
There came a cow with a crumpled horn, 

Hey diddle, Ho diddle. Do. 
She stood agape and said, " My dear, 
You're a very fine child for this time of year, 
And I think you'll have a taste in beer, " 

Hey diddle, Ho diddle, Ho, do, do, do, 

Hey diddle. Ho diddle. Do. 

A taste in beer I've certainly got. 

Hey diddle. Ho diddle. Do, 
A very fine taste that the Jews have not, 

Hey diddle. Ho diddle. Do. 
And though I travel on the hills of Spain, 
And Val-Pont-C6te and Belle Fontaine, 
With lusty limgs I shall still maintain 
I 



2 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

Hey diddle, Ho diddle. Ho, do, do, do, 
Hey diddle. Ho diddle. Do. 

So Sussex men, wherever you be, 

Hey diddle, Ho diddle. Do, 
I pray you sing this song with me, 

Hey diddle, Ho diddle, Dof 
That of all the shires she is the queen, 
And they sell at the " Chequers " at Chanctonbury Green 
The very best beer that ever was seen. 

Hey Dotninus, Domine, Dominum, Domini, Dotniao, 
Domino, 

n 

Lord Globule was a backward lad. 
Round leaden eyes Lord Globule had, 
And shambling legs and shotilders stooped. 
And lower lip that dripped and drooped. 
At ten years old he could not get 
The hang of half the alphabet; 
At twelve he learnt to read his name. 
At seventeen to write the same, 
At twenty-one, his boyhood done. 
He reached the age of twenty-one. 
Which was sufficient reason why 
His father's sturdy tenantry 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

Should gather in a large white tent, 
Engulf some tons of nutriment, 
And, freely primed with free potations. 
Emit profuse congratulations. 

Sweet twenty-one! O magic age 1 

The opulent youth surveys the stage 

Where soon he'll walk 'mid loud applause. 

He only hesitates because 

His family all have different views 

Which role, which entrance he should choose. 

Lord Globule's father thought him made 

To dominate the world of Trade; 

" Finance, finance is more his line, " 

Exclaimed his Uncle Rubinstein; 

" Oh, no, " Aunt Araminta cried, 

" Diplomacy should first be tried "; 

But in the end with one accord 

They thought the chances of a hoard 

That British politics afford 

Would suit Lord Globule's pocket best. 

They all employed their interest 
With Uncle Tom, and Moses Kant, 
And Strauss, who married Globule's aunt, 
And Johnny Burke, and Stoke and Shere, 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

And the old Duke and Htunphrey Bere; 
So that in January next year 
A vacancy in Hertfordshire 
Offered itself, and Globule's parts 
Enraptured the electors' hearts. 

The next five Sessions saw him slip 

Through Private Secretaryship, 

Under-Secretaryship, 

Financial Secretaryship, 

To Secretaryship of State, 

With absolute power to regulate 

The rural and the urban rate 

Of birth among the pauper classes, 

His duty 'twas to scan the masses 

And carefully eliminate 

What seemed to him degenerate, 

To say what kinds they'd mutilate 

And which ones merely isolate 

In " homes from home " where they should be 

Looked after tender-heartedly 

By men selected by a Board 

(No fewer than twenty to each ward). 

A heavy task, as you'll agree, 
For which they paid him liberally. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

Globule the office still would grace, 
And still would draw the emolxunent, 
Had not a wretched accident 
Unfortunately taken place. 



His chief subordinate being away 

(The man who wrote Lord Globule's speeches), 

Lord Globule took a holiday, 

Going by train to Burnham Beeches, 

A secretary, tall and prim. 

As usual, escorting him. 

This tall yoimg gentleman, when taxed 

Later, denied he had relaxed 

His customary watchfulness; 

But be that as it may, 'tis certain 

That late that night at Shoeburyness 

Lord Globule was discovered bare 

Of all except a muslin curtain 

And some few feathers in his hair 

And that the constable, when he 

Was qmte imable to explain 

His actions or identity. 

Concluded that he was insane. 

Next day before the magistrate 

The poor young pillar of the State 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

(His curtain bore no laundry marks!) 

Was still quite unidentified, 

And, catechized once more, replied 

Only with sundry mews and barks. 

And ultimately (to cut short 

The day's proceedings in the court) 

Two doctors and the police advised 

That Globule should be sterilized 

(A thing I need not further mention), 

And sent to permanent detention. 



For days the public did not hear 
Of Globule's disappearance ; near 
And far, inquiries set on foot 
Quite privately, produced no fruit, 
Until at last the rumour spread 
(Not in the papers) and some one said 
That such a man in such a dress 
Had been detained at Shoeburyness. 
His relatives pursued the clue ; 
Alas, alas, the thing was true, 
'Twas poor young Globule . . . 

But the worst 
Was this: that when they'd brought him out 
They found the thing had got about 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

Among the unenlightened mob, 
Which stiiltified beyond all doubt 
The hopes they'd entertained at first 
That Globule might preserve his job. 
Fate was too strong; they had to bow; 
Globule at home had been a failure ; 
And they could only give him now 
The Governorship of South Australia. 



No. 2. MR. W. H. DAVIES 



I'm sure that you would never guess 
The tales I hear from birds and flowers, 

Without them sure 'twould be a mess 
I'd make of all the summer hours; 

But these fair things they make for me 

A lovely life of joy and glee. 

I saw some sheep upon some grass, 
The sheep were fat, the grass was green, 

The sheep were white as clouds that pass, 
And greener grass was never seen; 

I thought, " Oh, how my bUss is deep, 

With such green grass and such fat sheep! " 

And as I watch bees in a hive, 
Or gentle cows that rub 'gainst trees, 

I do not envy men who live. 
No fields, no books upon their knees. 

I'd rather lie beneath small stars 

Than with rough men who drink in bars. 
8 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 
n 

A poor old man 
Who has no bread, 

He nothing can 
To get a bed. 

He has a cough, 
Bad boots he has; 

He takes them off 
Upon the grass. 

He does not eat 

In cosy inns 
But keeps his meat 

In sahnon tins. 

No oven hot, 

No frying-pan; 
Thank God I'm not 

That poor old man. 



No. 3. SIR HENRY NEWBOLT 

It was eight bells in the forenoon and hammocks running 
sleek 
{It's a fair sea flowing from the West), 
When the little Commodore came a-sailing up the 
Creek 
(Heave Ho! I think you'll know the rest). 
Thunder in the halyards and horses leaping high, 
Blake and Drake and Nelson are listenin' where they 

lie, 
Four and twenty blackbirds a-bakin' in a pie, 
And the Pegasus came waltzing from the West. 

Now the little Commodore sat steady on his keel 

{It's a fair sea flowing from the West), 
A heart as stout as concrete reinforced with steel 

(Heave Ho! I think you'll know the rest). 
Swinging are the scuppers, hark, the rudder snores, 
Plugging at the Frenchmen, downing *em by scores. 
Porto Rico, Vera Cruz, and also the Azores, 

And the Pegasus came waltzing from the West. 

10 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE n 

So three cheers more for the little Commodore 

(It's a fair sea flowing from the West) . 
I tell you so again as I've told you so before 

(Heigh Ho! I think you know the rest). 
Aged is the Motherland, old but she is young 
(Easy with the tackle there — don't release the bung), 
And I sang a song like all the songs that I have ever 
sung 

When the Pegasus came sailing from the West. 



No. 4. MR. JOHN MASEFIELD 

THE POET IN THE BACK STREETS 

[Author's Note. — The following poem has been con- 
siderably compressed owing to the exigencies of space, 
which must sometimes be respected. But enough at least 
has been printed to indicate that it is a production of the 
School of Real Human Emotion that is leading a return to 
Life and Religion and Natural Action and away from the 
refined sestheticisms of so memy of our modern poets.] 



Down Lupus Street there is a little pub, 

And there there worked a little bright-haired maiden. 
Mornings the furniture she had to scrub. 

Evenings she'd walk about with pewters laden; 

But still she sang as did the birds in Eden: 
In fact you would have said that there was no 
More cheerful barmaid in all Pimlico. 

She had eleven brothers and a sister, 

A mother who had rheiimatism bad, 
And when she left o' mornings how they missed her, 

And when she stayed o' Sundays weren't they glad ; 

No other help or maintenance they had, 
12 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 13 

So that their mother often said, " God pink 'em, 
Lucky for them Flo makes a decent income. 

" If 'twasn't for Flo's fifteen bob a week, 
Me and them brats would not know where to turn, 

For some of 'em ain't old enough to speak. 
And none of 'em ain't old enough to earn. 
And as for 'er bright merry japes, why, durn 

My bleedin' eyes, if we'd no Flo to quirk us, 

Fm sure we'd soon be droopin' in the workus. 

" It's only Flo's 'igh spirits keeps me goin'. 
The way she sings ' My Pansy,' it's a treat. 

And also * All a-blowin' and a-growin', * 
Oxu: Flo is fair top-'ole, she can't be beat. 
So give three cheers for Flo, it's time to eat; 

Mary, you just rtm out and fetch some jam, 

And Bill, take down the pickles and the ham." 

So the years passed, so Florence earned the money, 
And all the throng were happy as could be, 

No air could blench or stain her cheeks so bonny. 
No labour weigh upon her heart so free. 
She was, in short, as chirpy as could be ; 

Until at last came Fate in Fate's own time, 

And ravelled her in the dark nets of crime. 



14 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

Crime is the foulest blot on otir escutcheon, 
Crime draws mankind as the moon draws the tides, 

Crime is a thing I'm rather prone to touch on, 
Crime is a clanking chain that grins and grides, 
A lure, a snare, and other things besides; 

If crime should cease, I should not then be able 

To furnish Austin with my monthly fable. 

One foggy night it happened there were drinking. 

Within the bar a crowd of all the boys, 
*Erb Gupps and Nixey Snell and Snouty Jinkin, 

And Noakes with several friends from Theydon 
Bois 

Visiting Pimlico ; they made a noise 
With call for booze and anecdote and curse, 
And as the night wore on the row got worse. 

"Wot sher," "Wot ho," "I don't fink," "Blast yer 
eyes," 
" That was a good 'un," " Cheese it," " 'Arf a mo," 

" Ten pints of 'arf an' 'arf," " There ain't no flies 

On Nixey," " You're a welsher, Joe," 

" A quartern more, miss," " lie," and so 

They kept it up with rapid thrust and answer, 

In phrases neatly measured for a stanza. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 15 

Even when they yelled and fought, Flo did not mind, 
She did not mind, for she was used to this, 

Even when to sottish amorousness inclined 
They called her " Floss," or " Flo," instead of 

««Miss"; 
But when at last drunk Snouty snatched a kiss. 

She felt her cheek flame with a flaming fiame. 

She felt her heart scorch with a hell of shame. 

All the air howls when storms scourge the Atlantic, 
All the wide forest shakes when falls the boar, 

A wounded whale is often very frantic. 
And jealous lions have been known to roar 
Almost as loud as breakers on the shore; 

But all these are tranquillity and rest 

Compared with what went on in Florrie's breast. 

Red in her soul shame set its blazing seal. 

Black in her heart strong hate swirled round in tor- 
rents. 
Blue in her eyes the lightning shone like steel, 

White on her lips rage mingled with abhorrence; 

Against a barrel's back leaned Barmaid Florence, 
Watching with grinding teeth and eyeballs rolling, 
Drunk Snouty who was belching forth " Tom Bowling." 



i6 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

There while the boozers rocked in song obscene, 

She stood like a tall statue marble-still, 
And first she moaned, " I am smirched, I am no more 
clean," 
And then she rasped, " By God, but I will kill 
That lousy stinkard, yes, by God I will." 
Fate flung the dice of Doom, her buckler buckled; 
Life shrank, grew pale; Death rubbed his chin and 
chuckled. 

So it draws on to closing-time ; men go 
By twos and threes; Flo washes pots and glasses, 

Ranging them on the shelves in their degrees. 

Wipes the wet counter dry, turns down the gasses; 
And, locking up the doors, the portal passes. 

Grasping with fervour of a frenzied bigot 

Inside her mufi a mallet and a spigot. 

There Snouty was, fumbling his way along 

Towards the bridge, blind-tight, alone and grunting, 

And as he lurched he sang a maudlin song, 
A foolish song beginning, " Baby Bunting, 
For rabbit-skins yoiu: father's gone a-himting," 

And as Flo heard the melody imdroughty. 

She whispered, " Gripes, I'U bimt you, Mr. Snouty I " 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 17 

So they went on, he foremost, she behind, 
Until they got to the Embankment wall; 

He leant against it; swifter than the wind 

She smashed her wedge into his head, and all 
His brains spattered the stones in pieces small. 

" My Mss," she hissed; then with a sudden shiver 

Fled, tipping tools and Snouty in the river. 



And like a fleet slim panther she did fly 
Through the webbed streets of silent Pimlico, 

Faithful the white stars glimmered in the sky. 
Over the Lambeth bank the moon himg low, 
A great roimd golden moon as white as snow. 

Death ciirsed ; Life smiled and murmured, " She will 
live. 

The police will fail to track the fugitive." 



And the high stars looked down and saw her enter 
The doorway of her home in the dark street, 

Happy to think the cops would never scent her, 
Proud for the godlike swiftness of her feet. 
Cheek to her pillow cried she: " Yes, 'twas sweet. " 

But God behind God's curtain cogitated 

About another end, and all things waited. 



i8 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

II 

Six months rolled by ; Flo earned her wonted wages, 

The family consumed its usual food. 
Had nothing changed I'd not have penned these pages; 

But evil generally brings forth good ; 

Briefly I'd have it to be imderstood 
One day a pavement-preacher's casual sentence 
Hurled Flo into abysses of repentance. 

So the sky fell ; there came a hand of fire 
That seared her soul with consciousness of sin, 

Her soul was all one yearning of desire 
For God ; she felt like jumping from her skin ; 
Like hell in a through-draught she burnt within. 

" Mother, " she said, " here is my this week's sub., 

I cannot go on working at the pub. " 

The mother swooned; the children joined in prayer 
That Flo should not decide in such a fast time; 

But the fierce heavens cried beer was a snare 
And skittles was a most immoral pastime; 
So that that evening for the very last time 

She washed the pots and locked the " Fountain " door, 

As sliQ had done so many, nights before. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 19 

Next day she went out early without warning 
Down the wan street; and later in the day, 

That is to say well on into the morning, 
She sent a District Messenger to say 
That she had definitely gone away 

To join the Battersea Salvation Army. 

" Swipe me, " her mother moaned, " the gal's gone 
barmy. " 



Barmy or not, she certainly had gone. 
In her low attic poor old mother wept, 

*' She kep the home up, little Florence done, 
We was so happy in the home she kep; 
'Twas mean of her to hook it while we slep; 

I'll larn her yet to take me by surprise, 

I'll do her in, 'er eyes! " 



But Flo was meanwhile getting fur and furder. 
Safe in the barracks in the Bilsey Road, 

Aching to make atonement for her murder. 
She said she wished to take up her abode 
There permanently; stabbed by her inner goad, 

She very qmckly rose to the direction 

Of her new comrades' Social Effort Section. 



20 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

She visited the mothers in the sliuns, 

And daily rescued suicidal wretches, 
She helped the young with their addition sums, 

And washed the infants' clothes and mended breeches; 

And when she broke a plate or dropped some stitches. 
None ever heard a hasty word from Flo, 
The most she ever said was, " Here's a go ! " 

Work or no work, her heart was always merry, 
Heaven had washed her heart and cleansed her 
eyes. 

Adjutant Flo, the Barmaid Missionary, 
Was the adored of every sex and size, 
They said that she had strayed from Paradise, 

And every week her saintly reputation 

Led many sinning sotils to seek salvation. 

Death laughed; Life winced; for in the neighbouring 
borough 

Old mother dwelt and bided her own hour. 
Whetting a carving-knife with motions thorough. 

Practising stabs of accxuracy and power. 

The scythe must fall, and then must fall the flower, 
The day must die and then must sink the sun, 
And all things end that ever have begun. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 21 

m 

All the crowds crowd in Battersea's Green Park; 
The deer are fed, the ducks quack on the water; 

On the trim paths the Sabbath-resting clerk 
Walks slowly with his wife and son and daughter, 
Or seeks the grass where orators breathe slaughter, 

Some singing hymns to variegate their turns. 

Or waving flags with portraits of John Bums. 

Middle the plot there brays a brazen band, 
Peaked caps, red jerseys, other things of blue ; 

And when they cease behold a figtire stand, 
A bright-haired wench who wears those garments too. 
She preaches truth as few but she can do 

Concerning drink and cigarettes and betting 

So that the mob must listen though they're sweating. 

" S'welp me, it's hot." " Yes, s'welp me, so it is." 
" Ain't it a shame the pubs ain't open Sundays, 

Just as they be Tuesdays and Wednesdays, Liz, 
Thursdays, Fridays, Satiirdays, and Mondays, 
To close the up on just this one day's 

'Bout the worst thing the law has done." 

" Yus, so it is." ** Gorblimey, wot a sun! " 



22 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

But though the high sun spilled a raging heat, 
They could not go, they had to stay and hear. 

So tense her accents were, her voice so sweet. 
" Crikey, " says Bill, " she's a 'ard egg, no fear. " 
Says Sam, ** By Gosh, I'll drop the beer. " 

"You won't." "I will." "You won't." "What 
will you bet? " 

" A ... no, by gum, 'ere comes a Suffragette! " 



It was a Suffragette with purple banner. 
Handbell and bag of many-coloured bills, 

At once in her inimitable manner 

She draws the crowd ; the space around her fills. 
While Flo's grows empty ; soon her pitch is still's 

The solitudes of the Antarctic Ocean, 

For even the band had shared the crowd's emotion. 



Not a man trod her corner of the Park, 
A quarter-mile around the place was void. 

Only her voice to one lost mongrel's bark 
Rang on, and still, as with sound texts she toyed, 
She did not seem the slightest_bit aimoyed. 

But Life shrank low, and greedy Death did dance, 

For here at last had come old mother's chance 1 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 23 

Old mother had been hiding 'hind a tree, 
Old mother who had sworn the end of Flo, 

Weapon in hand she stole up stealthily 
Towards the daughter who had grieved her so. 
" Aha! " she cried, " you little bitch. Ho, ho, 

I'll pay you out now for your vile desertion ..." 

In Flo's plain blouse she made a neat insertion I 



Flo fell, she fell, did Barmaid Flo, she fell ; 
The carving-knife was sticking in her back. 

And as she fell she cried out, " Well, well, well. 
What is the motive of this base attack? " 
But her old mother shrieked aloud, " Alack, 

This was my child, this was my little child, 

O, I must cover her with blossoms wild. " 



So sought she underneath the elms and oaks. 
Garlic and dandelions, peonies 

And cabbage>wort and sprole and old-man's-mokes, 
And lillikens and dinks and bitter-ease. 
And mortmains that the hind in autumn sees 

In places where the mist lies on the hay 

And all the land is frozen with the May. 



24 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

And with her arms full, poor old mother staggered 
To her poor child there dead upon the grass, 

♦' My little Flo, " she whimpered, '• I'll be jaggered 
I don't know how it ever come to pass, 
I don't know how I done it, little lass; 

Whyever did I sharp that carvin' knife 

And let out all my lovely darlin's life? 



" She wor a merry grig, wor little Flo, 
She kep the family goin* nicely, she did. 

There never was a wheeze she didn't know. 
She always pinched us anything we needed; 
Cripes, but I cannot tell why I proceeded. 

Just 'cos she left the family to starve. 

My pretty Flo's sweet darlin' back to carve. " 



And so she brought the flowers to her dead, 
And piled them on her feet and face and breast, 

Flo lay there still as down the blossoms shed, 
A heavenly angel lying down to rest, 
A downy bird at evening on its nest, 

A cloud, a moth, a wave, a steamer, or 

Almost any other metaphor. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 25 

" Good-bye, my Uttle Flo, »* said poor old mother 
" You had your faults, I wUlingly admit. 

Yet I am, taking one thing with another. 
Sorry for my rash act more than a bit. 
But still, I do not want to swing for it. 

Mimi is the word, least said is soonest mended. " 

So mother left the Park, and all was ended. 



No. 5. MR. G. K. CHESTERTON 

When I leapt over Tower Bridge 

There were three that watched below, 

A bald man and a hairy man, 
And a man like Ikey Mo. 

When I leapt over London Bridge 

They quailed to see my tears, 
As terrible as a shaken sword 

And many shining spears. 

But when I leapt over Blackfriars 

The pigeons on St. Paul's 
Grew ghastly white as they saw the sight 

Like an awful sun that falls; 

And all along from Ludgate 

To the wonder of Charing Cross, 
The devil flew through a host of hearts — 

A messenger of loss. 

With a rumour of ghostly things that pass 
With a thunderous pennon of pain. 

To a land where the sky is as red as the grass, 
And the sun as green as the rain. 
26 



No. 6. CANON H. D. RAWNSLEY 

Britannia mourns for good grey heads that fall, 
Survivors from our great Victoria's reign; 

For they were men; take them for all in all 
We shall not look upon their like again. 



2^ 



No. 7. NUMEROUS CELTS 

There's a grey wind wails on the clover 
And grey hills, and mist around the hills, 

And a far voice sighing a song that is over 
And my grey heart that a strange longing fills. 

A sheen of dead swords that shake upon the wind, 
And a harp that sleeps though the wind is blowing 

Over the hills and the seas and the great hills behind, 
The great hills of Kerry, where my heart would be 
going. 

For I would be in Kerry now where quiet is the grass, 

And the birds are crying in the low light. 
And over the stone hedges the shadows pass, 

And a fiddle weeps at the shadow of the night. 

With Pat Doogan 
Father Mxirphy 
Brown maidens 
King Cuchullain 
28 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 29 

The Kine 
The Sheep 
Some old women 
Some old men 
And Uncle White Sea-gull and all. 

(Chorus) And Uncle White Sea-gull and all. 



No. 8. THE PEOPLE WHO WRITE IN 

SECRET WHAT IN PUBLIC THEY 

ALLEGE TO BE FOLK-SONGS 

The night it was so cold, and the moon it was so clear, 
When I stood at the churchyard gate a-parting from my 

dear, 
A-parting from my dear, for to bid my dear good-bye! 
And I parted from my dear when the moon was in the 

sky. 

*' I never shall forget, " said he, " wherever I may roam, 
The day that I parted from my own true love at home, 
My own true love at home that was always true to me, 
I never shall forget my love wherever I may be. 

"But I must off to Barbary for good King George to fight, 
And it's farewell to Bayswater and to the Isle of Wight, 
And it's farewell to my true love, it's farewell to you. 
It's farewell to my own dear love, so faithful and so 
true." 

30 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 31 

He kissed me good-bye, and he gave me a ring, 
And he rode away to Lunnon for to fight for the King; 
Oh! lonely am I now, and sair, sair cold my pillow, 
And I must bind my head with O the green willow. 

For last night there came a white angel to my bed. 
And he told to me that my own dear love was dead; 
My ov/n dear love is dead, and I am all alone^ 
(So it's surely rather obtuse of you to ask me why I 
moan). 



No. 9. MR. H. G. WELLS 



I do not qtiite know how to begin. . . . Ever since I left 
England and settled here in this quiet Putumayo valley I 
have been wondering and wondering. ... I want to put 
everything down quite frankly so that you who come after 
me shall understand. It is very peaceful here in the 
forest, and as my mind goes back to that roaring old 
England, with its strange welter of aspirations and base- 
nesses, that little old England, so far away now, a small 
green jewel in the great sea, I break into a smile of tender 
tolerance. Here, as the immemorial procession of day and 
night, of summer and winter, sweeps over the earth, amid 
the vast serenities of primeval nature, it all seems so very 
far away, so small, so queerly inconsequent. . . . The 
men who made me, the men who broke me, the women 
I loved, the sprawling towns, the confused effort, and that 
imgainly lop-sided structure of our twentieth-century 
civilization, with its strange welter of sex. . . . 
32 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 33 

II 

And then it was that the Hon. Astarte Cholmondeley 
came into my life. I remember as clearly as though it were 
yesterday — and it is now over thirty years ago — the mo- 
ment of our meeting. It was at one of those enormous 
futile receptions that political hostesses give at tlie begin- 
ning of the Session, assemblies of two or three thousand 
men and women, minor politicians, organizers, journalists, 
all clamorous for champagne and burning for nods of 
recognition from the great men of the Party. It was a 
fine night, almost oppressively warm, and I had walked 
across the Park from Hill Street, carrying my opera-hat in 
my hand. There was a dull uniform roar from the 
distant traffic; the tops of the trees faintly swished in the 
light wind, the lights along the lake shone very quietly, 
and above were the vast serenities of the sky, powdered 
with stars. On benches in the shadows liuked pairs of 
quiet lovers, and the stars looked down upon them as they 
had upon lovers in Nineveh and Babylon. As I stepped 
out into the rush of Pall Mall, with its stream of swift 
motors, I thought, I remember, of my career. . . . 

Ill 
The crush was vulgar and intolerable. 
I had spent an hour passing dejected remarks to the 
other young men, also there out of duty and as bored as I 
3 



34 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

was myself. Then suddenly she entered ... a slender 
slip of a thing, brown-haired and brown-eyed, leaning 
flower-like on the arm of her elephantine mother, the 
Dowager. . . . 



IV 



" Dearest, " she wrote me next day, ** did you sleep 
last night ? I did not sleep a wink. All night long I lay 
dazzled and overwhelmed by this wonderful thing that has 
come to us. And then this morning, when God's great 
dawn slowly lifted over the westward hills, I got up, did my 
hair (oh my beautiful, beautiful hair, now all yours, my ov/n 
Man, all yours), and sat down to write this, my first letter, 
to you. I am sitting at the little window of my room in the 
Lion Tower. The breath of the roses rises in the fresh 
morning air; and out beyond the park, where the deer 
are placidly grazing, the slanting sun glints exquisitely on 
spacious woodland and rolling down, mile after mile. . . . 
Far away, against the blue of the horizon, there is a little 
pointing church spire, and somehow it reminds me of you. 
. . . Oh, my lover, I am going to lay bare to you the 
inmost shrine of my heart. You must be patient with me, 
very patient; for do we not belong to each other? We 
must live openly we two, we who are the apostles of new 
freedoms, of new realizations, of a second birth for this 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 35 

dear, foolish old world of ours. " Thus she wrote, and 
there was more, much more, too sacredly intimate to be 
set down here, but breathing in every Une the essence 
of her adorable self. . . . 



And then it was that Mary Browne came into my Ufe. 
I had known her years ago when I was at college; I had 
thought her a meek and rather dull little girl, as insigni- 
ficant as the rest of her family. But now there was about 
her a certain quality of graciousness, very difficult to de- 
fine, but very unescapable when it is present, that gave to 
her mouse-grey hair and rather weak blue eyes a beauty 
very rare and very subtle. She had spent, she told me, 
two years in theEast End at some social work or other. . . . 

VI 
And then I met Cecilia Scroop. . . . 

vn 

And so the end came. In those last days I worked more 
feverishly than ever, writing my book, attending com- 
mittees, speaking on platforms throughout the country. I 
was the chief speaker during that by-election of Brooks's 



36 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

at Manchester, which I still believe might have been the 
germ of a new social order, of coherences and approxi- 
mations, of differentiations and realizations beyond the 
imagining of the men of our time, but to be very clearly 
and very palpably apprehended by that future race for 
whom we, in a blind and groping way, are living and 
building. . . . And then the blow fell. . . . 

It was a Friday afternoon. The House had risen early 
after throwing out some absurd Bill that that ass Biffin had 
brought in; I think it was something about Bee Disease. 
I had been one of the tellers for the Noes, and at three 
o'clock I walked out into Palace Yard and along the chalky 
stone cloister that leads to the private tunnel through 
which members enter the Underground Railway 
station. I had promised to meet Astarte at four at the 
foot of the Scenic Railway (this was before the time when 
little Higgins revolutionized the amusement business 
with his actino-gyroscopes) in the Earl's Court Exhibition. 
Since her marriage with Binger communication had been 
increasingly difficult for us. All her letters were opened, 
and Binger had eavesdroppers at work in the telephone 
exchanges. Her chauffeur, happily, played his master 
false, and she was usually able to keep appointments 
when she had made them; and for some months we had 
arranged our meetings by little cryptic notices in the 
agony column of the Morning Post, We had thought our- 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 37 

selves safe. But she must have dropped a casual word 
to somebody; some fool had given us away; and when I 
got to Earl's Court I found that Astarte was there, but that 
Mary ard Cecilia were there as well. . . . 



vm 



I remonstrated with them. I knew it was hopeless, and 
my heart sank; but I did my best. Greatest agony of all 
it was to know that these women in whom I had trusted, 
whom I had looked to as pioneers, as auguries of what 
was to be and what still will be, were, when the crisis came, 
still shackled and bound by the little petty jealousies of the 
old system. With set, white faces they glowered upon me 
(it was raining a little I remember, and the ground at our 
feet was muddy and covered with stained and trampled 
paper) as I spoke, softly and passionately, of muddle and 
waste, of the sordid and furtive shames and reticences that 
man has brought with him from the ancestral past, that he 
must shed before we build for our gods the diviner temples 
that might be. . . . Night came over . . . and then, as my 
voice failed, a tall man stepped out from behind a hoarding. 
It was Montacute, the Prime Minister. " I am very sorry 
for you, " he said simply, " but I am afraid, Mr. Bilge- 
water, we shall have to ask you to resign. " He seemed to 
hesitate a moment; then, as though half ashamed, he held 



38 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

out his hand and looked me in the eyes. ... I had 
known him since I was a boy at school and he a young man, 
a fastidious and kindly young man who had seemed al- 
most too delicate for the rough work of politics. He had 
always taken a friendly interest in me even when I was 
bitterly fighting him. ... " Good-bye," he said. My 
voice was husky as I returned his farewell. 

IX 

I went back to my chambers and told my man to pack a 
single portmanteau. There were just three hours before 
the boat-train. Before I left I wrote ten letters. . . . 



No. lo. MR. G. BERNARD SHAW 

Fragment from an Unwritten Play 

MAHOMET THE PROPHET 

Act n 

The library of the Prophet's house at Medina. As the 
audience is looking straight into a corner, only two walls 
are seen. The right wall contains two high windows, 
through which much blue sky is visible', between them 
Mahomet is seated, with his back to the audience, at a 
handsome oak writings-desk. At the far end of the left wall 
is a door, and along the rest of its length runs a long blue 
divan, piled with multicoloured cushions, on which recline 
Ayesha, a slender girl with deep black eyes, pale cheeks and 
golden hair, and two others of the Prophet's eighty wives. 
They are drinking coffee from brass bowls and turning over 
the pages of illustrated magazines. The floor is strewn with 
rich rugs. 

After five minutes' silence the Prophet stretches his arms, 
rises, and turns round. He is a fleshy man with huge head, 
hands, and feet. His eyes are red, his aose imperious, and 
39 



40 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

bis beard covers half his chest He walks up and down nero 
vously jerking his hands, then stands still, right centre^ 

Mahomet: Well, well, my poor dead Khadija! 

The Wives: We think you might have the decency 
to refrain from mentioning our predecessor in front 
of us. 

Mahomet: Don't be absurd, my dears. You, Ayesha, 
ought to have had more sense. You ought to know that 
my feelings are perfectly natural. Here has the army 
just been cutting up the big summer caravan to Mecca, 
chock-full of all the latest things from Constantinople. 
I have become the biggest property-owner in Arabia; 
and you refuse to let me lament the death of Khadija, 
who used to run the grocery-shop with me. Your behav- 
iotir is monstrous. I shall present you all at Christmas 
with complete editions of August Strindberg. 

Ayesha (screaming): No, no, anything rather than 
that! 

Mahomet: Well, mend yoiir manners then. It is 
simply intolerable that I should drudge like a slave work- 
ing up this prophet business for a pack of ungrateful 
women, and then get treated like this. (Enter Abu, a 
white'' bearded servant, with a card on a tray.) Schopenhauer 
was right ... or was it Weininger ? 

Abu (advancing): Weininger, sir. I am sure that is 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 41 

correct, sir. I know his book very well. I used to read it 
to my poor wife, sir, when she was in her last illness. 
( Wipes his eyes.) It was a great solace to her. 

Mahomet {taking the card and looking at it) : I thought I 
had told you I was not at home. I am supposed to be 
at the front. 

Abu {turning to go) : Very well, sir. 

Mahomet: Here, come back. Is there any news from 
Mecca? 

Abu {rubbing his head) : Oh, yes, sir! I quite forgot, sir. 
The excitement of the moment, I suppose, sir. Mecca 
was taken last Simday, sir. It was dark, sir, and your 
men ran into the town by mistake. The other side had 
run out of it by mistake. Yes, it must have been an 
exceedingly dark night, sir. 

Mahomet : Any converts ? 

Abu: Well, sir, it is like this, sir; there were not many 
left when your hono;u"'s men had finished. A few child- 
ren, perhaps. But the general who was impersonating 
your honour had a great reception from the troops. {Goes 
out) 

Mahomet (to Ayesha): Abu is really getting ridiculous. 
We cannot possibly keep the old fool any longer; he may 
give me away at any time if he goes on like this. Why 
the devil can't you put an advertisement for a servant in 
the paper as I asked you to ? 



42 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

Ayesha (sulkily): Where would you be if I left off 
writing your wretched old Koran for you ? 

Mahomet: Precisely where I am, my dear. You are 
not indispensable. Anybody else could easily continue 
my Koran. In fact I think it would actually be a good thing 
to make a change. All those disgusting things you've put 
in about women, and so on. They really revolt me with 
their tactlessness. 

( There is a great noise at the door, which suddenly gives 
way and lets in a tall, restless, thin man with a high 
forehead and a forked red''grey beard. He is dressed 
in a fawn''ccloured all^'wool coat and knickerbockers 
and wears a red tie, He nods his head sideways with 
a gay smile, rubs his hands and takes up his stand 
with his back to the corner, Mahomet and the 
woman all stare at him in amazement, for they have 
never seen a dramatist before,) 

The Dramatist: Come along. Prophet, brighten up. 
You must certainly know my name. I think this inhospi- 
tality is perfectly disgraceful. (Mahomet makes a threat,- 
ening move towards him,) No, no, don't bother about 
ringing for coffee for me. I don't drink your barbarous 
poisons. Don't you think you might introduce me to the 
ladies, Mahomet? 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 43 

Mahomet (fo the women) : Go to your rooms at once. I 
cannot possibly let you listen to the conversation of this 
pernicious Englishman. 

(Ayesha and the others, with evident reluctance, get up 
and file through the door, the last shutting it behind 
her,) 

Well, sir, to what do I owe this most unwarrantable 
intrusion? 

T. D. : Now, now, my friend, you can't come it over me 
like that. I shall blacken your character thoroughly if 
you are not careful. The trutli is, that I came here for the 
simple reason tliat though I have frequently put my own 
name into my characters' mouths, I have never hitherto 
actually introduced myself as a person in one of my plays. 
After all, when you come to think of it, my habit of express- 
ing my sentiments through invented characters has been 
utterly fantastic. And, besides, some of these con- 
founded actors have made hay with the parts by trying 
to tiu:n them into other people. One of these days I shall 
have to start a school for actors. No actor ought to 
be under eighty years of age. Men younger than that 
always will insist on interposing their own personalities 
between the author and his public. What I want is some 
one who will speak my lines. What on earth do people 
think my plays are for ? I wasn't born in order that a lot 



44 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

of stupid mximmers shoxild have an opportunity of parading 
their temperaments in public. At all events, here I am, 
you old reprobate {takes out his watch and looks at it), and 
I propose to talk to you for your good 

Mahomet (groaning and sinking on divan): But 
what do you want to write a play about me for ? I have 
never done you any harm. I am only a poor prophet, 
earning an honest living. My Arabians are a simple, 
imsophisticated people, and they have never seen a play in 
their life, except my butler, who is merely a menial and 
doesn't coxmt. 

T. D.: Now, really, my dear Prophet, this is the basest 
ingratitude. Why, in most of my plays the characters have 
had to tolerate a simple honest Englishman introduced 
into their midst. I can assure you that if I had sent you 
one of those instead of very kindly coming myself, you 
woiUd have fotmd him much duller company than you are 
finding me. Upon my oath, I think you ought to pay me for 
letting you off so lightly. 

Mahomet (blubbering) : But why do you want to drag 
me into it at all? Especially as my dislike of art is 
notorious. 

T. D. (elevating his eyebrows) : Well, my friend, if you 
insist, I will tell you ; but yotar blood be upon your own head. 
You have about you several characteristics that make it in- 
evitabl 2 that sooner or later I should nobble you. In the 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 45 

first place you are exceedingly well known; in the second 
place you are a humbug and an impostor; in the third 
place you are a shameless polygamist; and, in the 
fourth place, if you refer to any decent encyclopaedia, you 
will find that you are probably an epileptic, like Caesar and 
Napoleon. I ask, have you the atrocious conceit to think 
that you have a right to escape what Caesar and Napoleon 
have had to submit to ? Why, my dear sir, the thing is 
perfectly preposterous. I wonder you aren't ashamed of 
yourself. I shall really have to write to the Times about 
you. 

Mahomet: Wallah, Billah, Allah, Bismillah ! {He falls 
to the ground, foaming at the mouth. The Dramatist 
rings bell in the wall, Abu enters,) 

T. D. : My friend, your master seems a little indisposed. 

Abu: Yes, sir. So it appears, sir. Very sad, sir. 
Unavoidable tragedy of our time. Clash of ideas, sir, 
and so on. . . . {Picks up the Prophet and props him against 
diran. The Dramatist goes out) 

Mahomet {recovering his senses) : My God, Abu, where 
ami? . . . I've had a good many visions and revelations, 
but never one quite so bad as this ! 

Curtain 



HOW THEY WOULD HAVE DONE IT 



47 



No. I. IF WORDSWORTH HAD WRITTEN 
"THE EVERLASTING MERCY" 

Ever since boyhood it has been my joy 

To rove the hills and vales, the woods and streams, 

To commune with the flowers, the beasts, the birds, 

And all the himible messengers of God. 

And so not seldom have mylfootsteps strayed 

To that bare farm where Thomas Haythornthwaite 

(Alas ! 'tis now ten years the good old man 

Is dead!) wrimg turnips from the barren soil, 

To keep himself and his good wife, Maria, 

Whom I remember well, although 'tis now 

Full twenty years since she deceased; and I 

Have often visited her quiet grave 

In simmier and in winter, that I might 

Place some few flowers upon it, and returned 

In solemn meditation from the spot. 

In the employment of this honest man 

There was a hind, Saul Kane, I knew him well. 

And oft-times 'twas my fortune to lament 

The blackness of the youth's depravity. 
4 49 



50 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

For when I came to visit Haythornthwaite 

The good old man, leaning upon this spade, 

Would say to me, " Saul Kane is wicked, sir; 

A wicked lad. Before he cut his teeth 

He broke his poor old mother's heart in two. 

For at the beer-house he is often seen 

With ill companions, and at dead of night 

We hear him loud blaspheming at the owls 

That fly about the house. I oft have blushed 

At deeds of his I could not speak about." 

But yet so wondrous is the heart of man 

That even Saul Kane repented of his sins — 

A little maid, a little Quaker maid, 

Converted him one day. " Saul Kane," she said, 

" Dear Saul, I pray you will get drunk no more." 

Nor did he ; but embraced a sober life, 

And married Mary Thorpe ; and yesterday 

I met him on my walk, and with him went 

Up to the house where he and his do dwell. 

And there I long in serious converse stayed, 

Speaking of Nature and of politics, 

And then turned homeward meditating much 

About the single transferable vote. 



No. 2. IF SWINBURNE HAD WRITTEN 
"THE LAY OF HORATIUS" 

N,B, — Read this aloud, with resonance, nor examine too 
closely the meaning 

May the sword burn bright, may the old sword smite, that 
a myriad years have worn and rusted ? 
May an old wind blow where the yoimg winds go 
immaculate over the eager land ? 
May faded blossoms on ripening bosoms flame with lust 
as of old they lusted. 
Or the might of a night take flight with the white sweet 
arms of a dead Dionysian band ? 
Ah, nay ! for the rods of the high pale gods the power of the 
past have spilled and broken 
And over the fields the amaranth yields her guerdon of 
gossamer, bitter as rue, 
And the desolate blind sad ghost of the wind falters and 
fails as a word that was spoken 
Long since of a fire and a blazing pyre of perjured mon- 
archs and kings untrue.' 

' Possible mention of Tarquin. 
51 



52 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

The sword may smite and the keen sword bite though the 
clouds in the sky be clouds of peril, 
Though the Teuton glance at the flanks of France and the 
hand of Fate be a hand unseen, 
For the brave man's' arm was swift to charm and the 
coward's arm was weak and sterile 
Or ever the Saxon galleons swam to England' over the 
waters green 
And over the high Thessalian hills the feet of the maidens 
fail and falter, 
Samian waters and Lemnian valleys, Ithacan rivers and 
Lesbian seas. 
And the god retxirning with frenzy burning foams at the 
foot of a roseless altar. 
And dumb with the kiss of Artemis and the berries of 
death the virgin flees. 

With persisteace and luck the reader, after eighty verses or 

so, would bare come to something as specific as this: 
For the triumph of the trampling of the nations 

And the laughter of the loud Etrurian^ gates 
And the thtmder of a host of desolations 

And the lightning of an avalanche of hates 

I Conceivably Horatius. 

^ Our mother, inviolate ever since, save for one only 
occasion. 

3 Lars Porsena in poet's mind. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 53 

Never daunted thee or made thy cheek the paler 

On the bridge which thou didst hold as held the fleet 

Drake, our own superb Elizabethan sailor, 
Yea, and drove the bloody tyrant from his seat. 



No. 3. IF MR. MASEFIELD HAD WRITTEN 
"CASABIANCA" 

*' You dirty hog," " You snouty snipe," 
" You lump of muck," " You bag of tripe," 
Such, as their latest breaths they drew, 
The objurgations of the crew. 

they roared 

As they went timibling overboard, 
Or frizzled Uke so many suppers 
All along the halyard scuppers. 

" You "... the last was gone, 

And Cassy yelled there all alone. 

(He thought the old man was on the ship.) 

" Father! this gives me the fair pip! " 

*' My God, you old vagabone, " he cried, 
" If only I . . . " No voice replied; 
Only the tall flames higher sprang. 
Amid the spars, and soared and sang, 
Only along the rigging came 
God's great unfolding flower of flame, 
54 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 55 

And Love's divine dim planet shed 
Her radiance on the many dead; 
And past the battling fleets the sea 
Stretched to the world's edge tranquilly, 
Breathing with slow, contented breath 
As though it were in love with Death, 
As it has breathed since first began 
Man's inhumanity to man, 
As it will do when like a scroll 
All the heavens together roll. 
There's that purple passage done 
And I have one less lap to run. 

Dogs barked, owls hooted, cockerels crew. 
As in my works they often do 
When, flagging with my main design, 
I pad with a descriptive line. 
Yoimg Cassy cried again: '* Oh, damn! 
What an unhappy put I am ! 
Will nobody go out and search 
For dad, who's left me in the lurch ? 
For dad, who's left me on the poop. 
For dad, who's left me in the soup, 
For dad, who's left me on the deck. 
Perhaps it's what I should expeck 
Considerin' 'ow he treated me 
Before I came away to sea. 



56 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

'* Often at home he used to beat 

My head for talking in the street, 

Often for things I didden do, 

He brushed my breeches with a shoe. 

O ! but I wish that I was home now. 

Treading the soft old Breton loam now 

In that old Breton country where 

Mellows the golden autimm air, 

And all the tender champaign fills 

With hyacinths and daffodils, 

And on God's azure uplands now 

They plough the ploughed fields with a plough. 

And earth-worms feel averse from laughter, 

With hungry white birds following after. 

And maids at evening walk with men 

Through the meadows and up the glen 

To hear the old sweet tale again." 

The deck was getting hot and hotter, 

" Father! " he screamed, " you rotter! " 

The deck was getting red and redder. 
And now he thought he'd take a header. 
Now he advanced and now he funked it . . . 
It had been better had he bunked it. 
For as he wavered thus, and swore, 
There came a slow tremendous roar. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 57 

Lord Nelson suddenly woke up. 

** Where is Old Cassy and his pup ? 

• Don't know,' you say ? Why, strike me blind, 

I s'pose I'd better ask the wind." 

He asked the wind; the brooding sky 

At once gave back the wind's reply: 

"Wotto, Nelson!" 

" Wotto, sonny ? " 
" Do you think you're being funny ? 
Can't you look aroiuid, confound you. 
At all these fragments that surround you, 
Thick as thieves upon the sea, 
Instead of coming bothering me ? " 

Or, alternatively, if you prefer his other method, it would 

run like this/ 
And the flames rose, and leaping flames of fire 

Leapt roimd the masts and made the spars a crown, 
A golden crown, as ravenous as desire. 

" Father! " he cried, "my feet are getting brown." 

" Father! " he cried. The quiet stars looked down. 
The flames rose up like flowers overhead. 
He was alone and all the crew were dead. 



No. 4. IF ALMOST ANY ELIZABETHAN 

HAD WRITTEN " SHE DWELT AMONG 

THE UNTRODDEN WAYS" 

Ask me not for the semblance of my loue. 
Amidst the foimtains of the christal Done 
Like to that fayre Aurora did she runne, 
Who treads the beams of the sweete morning simne. 
Forth from her head her hayres like golden wyre 
Did spring; her amorous eyes were lamps of fire, 
Bright as that torch their heauenly raies did mount 
Wherewith fayre Hero lit the Hellespont, 
Or as that flame which on the desert lies 
When new-borne Phenix soareth to the skies. 
Like wanton darts her eye-beames she did throw 
From out her noble forehead's iuorie bow 
Whose Beauties great perfection would withstand 
The skill of the most cuiming painter's hand. 
Her virgin nose like Dians self did raigne 
Amidst her vermeil cheekes' ambrosiall plaine; 
Her busie lips twinne Rubies did appeare 
From which her Voyce did come as Diamonds cleare ; 
58 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 59 

Venus' owne Sonne would sigh to look beneath 
At the straight pearlie pleasaunce of her teethe. 
Like to fayre starres, or rather, like the sixnne 
Was her smooth Marble chinne's pavilion, 
Wherefrom her slender necke the eye did lead 
To shoulders like twinne Lilies on a mead, 
Whiter than Ledaes fethers or white milke, 
As sweete as nectar and as softe as silke. 
O, and her tender brests, they were as white 
As snowie hills which Phebus' beames doe smite 
Engirt with azure and with Saphire veines. ... 

(Cetera desunt) 



No. 5. IF POPE HAD WRITTEN " BREAK, 
BREAK, BREAK" 

Fly, Muse, thy wonted themes, nor longer seek 
The consolations of a powder'd cheek; 
Forsake the busy purlieus of the Court 
For calmer meads where finny tribes resort. 
So may th' Almighty's natural antidote 
Abate the worldly tenour of thy note, 
The various beauties of the liquid main 
Refine thy reed and elevate thy strain. 

See how the labour of the urgent oar 
Propels the barks and draws them to the shore. 
Hark ! from the margin of the azure bay 
The joyful cries of infants at their play. 
(The offspring of a piscatorial swain, 
His home the sands, his pasturage the main.) 
Yet none of these may soothe the mourning heart. 
Nor fond alleviation's sweets impart; 
Nor may the pow'rs of infants that rejoice 
Restore the accents of a former voice, 
60 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 6i 

Nor the bright smiles of ocean's nymphs command 

The pleasing contact of a vanished hand. 

So let me still in meditation move, 

Muse in the vale and ponder in the grove, 

And scan the skies where sinking Phcebus glows 

With hues more rubicimd than Gibber's nose. . . . 

{After which the poet gets into his proper stride) 



No. 6. IF GRAY HAD HAD TO WRITE HIS 
ELEGY IN THE CEMETERY OF SPOON 
RIVER INSTEAD OF IN THAT OF 
STOKE POGES 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The whippoorwill salutes the rising moon, 

And wanly glimmer in her gentle ray, 
The sinuous windings of the turbid Spoon. 

Here where the flattering and mendacious swarm 

Of lying epitaphs their secrets keep. 
At last incapable of further harm 

The lev/d forefathers of the village sleep. 

The earliest drug of half-awakened morn. 
Cocaine or hashish, strychnine, poppy-seeds 

Or fiery produce of fermented com 
No more shall start them on the day's misdeeds. 

For them no more the whetstone's cheerful noise, 
No more the sun upon his daily course 
62 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 63 

Shall watch them savouring the genial joys, 
Of murder, bigamy, arson and divorce. 

Here they all lie; and, as the hour is late, 

O stranger, o'er their tombstones cease to stoop, 

But bow thine ear to me and contemplate 
The unexpurgated annals of the group. 

There are two hundred only: yet of these 
Some thirty died of drowning in the river. 

Sixteen went mad, ten others had D. T's. 
And twenty-eight cirrhosis of the liver. 

Several by absent-minded friends were shot. 
Still more blew out their own exhausted brains, 

One died of a mysterious inward rot. 
Three fell off roofs, and five were hit by trains. 

One was harpooned, one gored by a bull-moose. 
Four on the Fourth fell victims to lock-jaw. 

Ten in electric chair or hempen noose 
Suffered the last exaction of the law. 

Stranger, you quail, and seem inclined to nm; 

But, timid stranger, do not be xmnerved; 
I can assure you that there was not one 

Who got a tithe of what he had deserved. 



64 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

Full many a "ice is born to thrive unseen, 
Full many a crime the world does not discuss, 

Full many a pervert lives to reach a green 
Replete old age, and so it was with us. 

Here lies a parson who would often make 
Clandestine rendezvous with Claflin's Moll, 

And 'neath the druggist's counter creep to take 
A sip of surreptitious alcohol. 

And here a doctor, who had seven wives. 

And, fearing this menage might seem grotesque, 

Persuaded six of them to spend their lives 
Locked in a drawer of his private desk. 

And others here there sleep who, given scope, 

Had writ their names large on the Scrolls of Crime, 

Men who, with half a chance, might haply cope. 
With the first miscreants of recorded time. 

Doubtless in this neglected spot is laid 

Some village Nero who has missed his due, 

Some Bluebeard who dissected many a maid, 
And all for naught, since no one ever knew. 

Some poor bucolic Borgia here may rest 
Whose poisons sent whole families to their doom. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 65 

Some hayseed Herod who, within his breast, 
Concealed the sites of many an infant's tomb. 

Types that the Muse of Masefield might have stirred, 

Or waked to ecstasy Gaboriau, 
Each in his narrow cell at last interred, 

All, all are sleeping peacefully below. 



Enough, enough! But, stranger, ere we part. 

Glancing farewell to each nefarious bier, 
This warning I would beg you take to heart, 

*' There is an end to even the worst career." 



No. 7. IF A VERY NEW POET HAD WRIT- 
TEN "THE LOTUS-EATERS" 



Ah! 

Ough! 

Umph! 

It was a sweat! 

Thank God, that's over! 

No more navigating for me 

I am on to 

Something 

Softer. . . . 

Conductor 

Give us a tune! 



Work! 

Did I used to work ? 
I seem to remember it 
66 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 67 



Out there. 

Millions of fools are still at 

It, 

Jumping about 

All over the place. . . . 

And what's the good of it all ? 

Buzz, 

Hustle, 

Pop, 

And then . . . 

Diunp 

In the grave. 



m 



Bring me six cushions 

A yellow one, a green one, a purple one, an orange one, 

an ultramarine one, and a vermilion one, 
Colours of which the combination 
Pleases my eye. 
Bring me 
Also 

Six lemon squashes 
And 
A straw. .... 



68 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

IV 

I have taken off my coat. 
I shall now 
Loosen 
My braces. 



Now I am 
All right . . . 
My God. . . . 
I do feel lazy ! 



No. 8. IF HENRY JAMES HAD WRITTEN 
THE CHURCH CATECHISM 

0/ What is your name ? 

A. It may possibly be conceived as standing in a re- 
lation of contiguity to a certain — shall we say ? — somewhat 
complicatedly rectilinear design — to put it colloquially, a 
symbol — employed by such of the races of mankind as 
follow the Roman usage to denote a sort of suppressed 
explosion, or rather, a confused hxmi " produced " when 
the upper and the nether lip are brought with some firm- 
ness — or even, as one might phrase it, " snap " — together, 
and a continuous soimd is compelled for egress to flow 
through a less harmonious though tmdeniably more 
prominent organ. Or, on the other hand, its relation to 
that so interesting figxure may be something even closer 
than one of mere contiguity, however proximate, some- 
thing in the nature of coincidence, of body and soul iden- 
tity even: in a word, it may be, or, more exactly, may be 
represented by, that symbol itself. 

O. Who gave you that name ? 

A Which? 

69 



70 TRICKSIOF THE TRADE 

0/ Oh no, not the other^one, the quite inevitably dis- 
cursive family " label." 

A, You mean my . . . 

O- Well yes, not that all so shared, and as it were 
almost — ^if one may forgivably say it — may one ? — " vul- 
garized " — ^your, as they call it, " surname. " 

A, Oh, not that one ? 

O. No . . . 

A, The other? 

O. Yes — that other — ^that more exquisitely personal, 
the more (dare one?) appropriated, the one of which, I had 
thought, we touched, even grasped, the skirts when our 
interlocution, or to put it quite brutally, when we began our 
conversation. 

A, You refer . . . 

0/ I am, dear lady, all ears. 

A, To, in fact, my — since we are both to be so frank — 
Christian name ? 

0/ Oh, but you are great! 

A. Not great, not, I mean, really, in the sense that you 
mean. . . . 

O, /mean ? 

A, The other sense, you know. 

0< Yes, I apprehend you, but it wasn't that one I 
meant. 

A, Then what in the world was it ? 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 71 

O. Take it from another point of view, wasn't frank- 
ness to be, always, our splendid object ? 

A, Explicitly. 

O. Wasn't it? 

A, Oh no, I woxildn't doubt it; I wouldn't, really 
wouldn't, let you down. 

0, Not even gently ? 

A. The other way, I meant. 

O, Divine clarity! And who gave it you? 

A. The Deluge! 

0/ He was it, or she ? 

A, Oh, never he, as he would himself say, never on 
your life. 

O. And she ? 

A, She would, as she always will, bet her boots not! 

O. Not, surely it wasn't, they ? 

A. They! 

0. They! 

A, Oh, certainly they ! Who could have stopped them. 
Not miserable I, so pitifully, so hopelessly, so microscopi- 
cally, futilely small ! They were all there, and there was I. 
And they did it, oh, quite finally did it. 

O. Who? 



Etc. 



No. 9. IF LORD BYRON HAD WRITTEN 
"THE PASSING OF ARTHUR" 

So all day long the noise of battle rolled 
Among the mountains by the western sea, 

Till, when the bell for evening service tolled. 
Each side had swiped the other utterly; 

And, looking roxmd. Sir Bedivere the bold 

Said, " Sire, there's no one left but you and me; 

I'm game to lay a million to a fiver 

That, save for us, there is not one svurvivor." 

" Quite Ukely," answered Arthur, " and I'm sure 
That I have been so hammered by these swine 

To-morrow's sun will find us yet one fewer. 
I prithee take me to yon lonely shrine 

Where I may rest and die. There is no cure 
For men with sixty-seven wounds like mine." 

So Bedivere did very firmly grapple 

His arm, and led him to the Baptist Chapel. 
72. 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 73 

There he lay down, and by him burned like flame 

His sword Ezcalibnr: its massy hilt 
Crusted with blazing gems that never came 

From mortal mines ; its blade, inlaid and gilt 
And graved with many a necromantic name, 

Still dabbled with the blood the king had spilt. 
Which touching, Arthur said, " Sir Bedivere, 
Please take this brand and throw him in the mere. " 

Bold Bedivere sprang back like one distraught, 
Or Uke a snail when tapped upon the shell. 

Was this the peerless prince for whom he'd fought, 
A man who'd drop his cheque-book down a well ? 

Surely he must have dreamt the words, he thought. 
Had the king spoken ? Was it possible 

To give so lunatic a proposal credit ? . . . 

And yet the king imdoubtedly had said it. 

He said it again in accents full serene: 

" Go to the lake and throw this weapon in it, 

And then come back and tell me what you've seen. 
The business should not take you half a minute. 

Off now. I say precisely what I mean." 

" Right, sire! " But, sotto voce, " What a sin it 

Would be, what criminal improvidence 

To waste an arme blanche of such excellence! " 



74 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

But Arthur's voice broke through his^meditation, 
" Why this delay? I thought I said ' at once * ? " 

" Yes, sire, " said he, and, with a salutation 
Walked ofE reflecting, " How this fighting blunts 

One's wits. In any other situation 
I should have guessed — 'twere obvious to a dunce 

That this all comes from Merlin's precious oflSces, 

Why could he not confine himself to prophecies? " 

Bearing the brand, across the rocks he went 
And now and then a hot impatient word 

Witnessed the stress of inner argument. 

" Curse it, " he mused, " a really sumptuous sword 

Is just the very one accoutrement 
I never have been able to afford; 

This beautiful, this incomparable Excalibur 

Would nicely suit a warrior of my calibre. 

*' Could anything be madder than to hurl in 
This stupid lake a sword as good as new, 

Merely because that hoary humbug Merlin 
Suggested that would be the thing to do? 

A bigger liar never came from Berlin, 
I won't be baulked by guS and bugaboo; 

The old impostor's lake may call in vain for it 

I'll stick it in a hole and come again for it. " 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 75 

So, having safely stowed away the sword 
And marked the place with several large stones 

Sir Bedivere retiimed to his liege lord ] 
And, with a studious frankness in his tones, 

Stated that he had dropped it overboard; 
But Arthur only greeted him with groans: 

" My Bedivere, " he said, " I may be dying, 

But even dead I'd spot such barefaced lying. 

" It's rather rough upon a dying man 
That his last dying orders should be flouted. 

Time was when if you'd thus deranged my plan 
I shoidd have said, ' Regard yourself as outed, 

I'll find some other gentleman who can. ' 
Now I must take what comes, that's all about it. . . . 

My strength is failing fast, it's very cold here. 

Come, pull yourself together, be a soldier. 

" Once more I mustlnsist you are to lift 

Excalibur and hurl him in the mere. 
Don't hang about now. You had better shift 

For all you're worth, or when you come back here 
The chances are you'll find your master stiffed. " 

Whereat the agonized Sir Bedivere, 
His " Yes, Sire, " broken by a noisy sob. 
Went off once more on his distasteful job. 



76 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

But as he walked the inner voice did say: 
*' I quite agree with * Render imto Cassar,' 

But nothing's said of throwing things away 
When a man's king's an old delirious geezer, 

You don't meet swords like this one every day. 
Jewels and filigree as fine as these are 

Should surely be preserved in a museum 

That our posterity may come and see 'em. 

"A work of Art's a thing one holds in trust, 
One has no right to throw it in a lake, 

Such Vandalism would arouse disgust 
In every Englishman who claims to take 

An interest in Art. Oh no, I must 
Delude my monarch for my country's sake; 

Obedience in such a case, in fact, 

Were patently an anti-social act. 

" It is not pleasant to deceive my king, 
I had much rather humour his caprice, 

But, if I tell him I have thrown the thing, 

And, thinking that the truth, he dies in peace, 

Surely the poets of oiu: race will sing 

(Unless they are the most pedantic geese) 

The praises of the knight who lied to save 

This precious weapon from a watery grave. " 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 77 

He reached the margin of the lake and there 

Until a decent interval had passed 
Lingered, the sword once more safe in its lair. 

Then to his anxious monarch hurried fast, 
And, putting on a still more candid air. 

Assured the king the brand had gone at last. 
But Arthur, not deceived by any means. 
Icily said: " Tell that to the marines. 

" Sir Bedivere, this conduct won't enhance 

Your reputation as a man of honom*. 
If you had dared to lead me such a dznce 

A week ago, you would have been a goner, 
Listen to me! I give you one more chance; 

And, if you fail again, I swear upon our 
Old oath of fealty to the Table Round 
I shall jiimp up and fell you to the ground." 

So that sad soul went off alone once more. 

Rebellion frowned no longer on his face ; 
His spirit was broken; when he reached the shore 

He wormed the sword out of its hiding-place, 
Excalibur, that man's eye should see no more, 

And, fearing still a further lapse from grace, 
Shut his eyes tight against that matchless jewel 
And, desperately hissing, " This is cruel, " 



78 TRICKS OF THE TRADE 

Swung it far back; and then, with mighty sweep, 
Hove it to southward as he had been bade. 

And, as it fell, an arm did suddenly leap 
Out of the moonUt wave, in samite clad, 

And grasped the sword and drew it to the deep. 
And all was still; and Bedivere, who had 

|No nerve at all left now, exclaimed, " My Hat! 

I'll never want another job like that! " 

Thus Bedivere at last performed his vow. 

And Arthur, when the warrior bore in sight, 
Read his success upon his gloomy brow. 
" Done it at last, " he murmured, " that's all right. 
Well, Bedivere, and what has happened now? " 

Demanded he; and the disconsolate knight 
In a harsh bitter voice replied, " Oh, damn it all, 
I saw a mystic arm, clothed iUiWhite samite all. " 

** Quite right, " said Arthur, " better late than never; 

Now, if you please, you'll take me for a ride. 
Put me upon your back and then endeavour 

To run top-speed unto the waterside. 
Come, stir your stumps, you must be pretty clever. 

Or otherwise I fear I shall have died 
Before you've landed me upon the jetty. 
And then the programme's spoilt: which were a pity. " 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 79 

What followed after this (although my trade is 
Romantic verse) is quite beyond my lay. 

For automobile barges, full of ladies 

Singing and weeping, never came my way. 

Though, for that matter, I was once in Cadiz — 
But never mind. It will suffice to say 

That in his final act our old friend Malory 

Was obviously playing to the gallery. 



No. 10. IF SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE 

HAD WRITTEN "LITTLE DROPS 

OF WATER" 

Child, I am wondering. 

Last night I was watching the silver moon rising over the 

sea, 
And in her light the colour of the sea was pale, and the 

colour of the grasses was dark and sweet as the 

champak. 
I heard the ducks crying over the waters by the shore. 
I heard from the khitmatgar, threading like pearls on the 

darkness, the soft notes of the ctunmerbtind. 
Child, I am wondering. 

Child, I smelt the flowers. 

The golden flowers . . . hiding in crowds like fairies at 

my feet. 
And as I smelt them the endless smile of the infinite broke 

over me, and I knew that they and you and I were 

one. 

80 



TRICKS OF THE TRADE 8i 

They and you and I, the cowherds and the cows, the jewels 
and the potter's wheel, the mothers and the light in 
baby's eyes. 

For the sempstress when she takes one stitch may make 
nine unnecessary; 

And the smooth and shining stone that rolls and rolls like 
the great river may gain no moss. 

And it is extraordinary what a lot you can do with a plati- 
tude when you dress it up in Blank Prose. 

Child, I smelt the flowers. 
6 



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